


Curse the Mocking Dawn

by LamentingQuill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamentingQuill/pseuds/LamentingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t speak, just reach out gently and take my hand in yours. I’m mildly surprised to find that it’s warm and not cold at all, as I’d somehow expected. You pull me slowly inside your chambers and I can’t keep my heart from beating loudly; so loudly, I fear you might hear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curse the Mocking Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Written in Hermione's point of view. The poem contained at the end is my own original, so please do not copy or redistribute without my permission. Thanks! :)

** Curse The Mocking Dawn **

by

_Lamenting Quill_

* * *

  
  
I walk briskly down the deserted corridors whilst all the inhabitants of the castle are tucked safely in their beds; that is to say, all of them but me. I’m not asleep, for in the night I have dreams of you. Of something I know I can never have. I don’t try to understand why I’ve come to feel this way. I only know that I cannot stop, and each dream awakens my feelings further – leaves me more miserable than the last. But that’s how it is. How it always will be.

It’s ironic really. I suppose everyone believes it is the war tormenting my dreams. But no, it’s you, and I have to wonder if you even know. But then I realise, of course you don’t. You have never been interested in anything about me but my faults, and have always taken pride in pointing them out to everyone. They’re clear enough to see without your help.

Turning down another silent corridor I’m accosted by a sound – students out after curfew. I walk around the corner to find two children snogging. I ignore the pang I feel at the sight and promptly make my presence known by taking house points. Once I’m sure they’re indeed heading to bed and not to another hide away, I realise exactly where I am. I’m in the dungeons, of course.

It’s no secret that fate is a fickle twit, definitely no secret to me at least. I lean against the cool stone wall trying to collect my thoughts, yet knowing they’re better left scattered. Like puzzle pieces I put them together and they create a complete image, an image of you.

I can’t stop myself as I walk down a corridor I’ve walked down many sleepless nights. It is your corridor, leading to your rooms. I’ve worn a perfect path down this dark, damp hallway, yet I’ve never been inside your rooms. I know I never will be. It’s funny, I never knew you could grieve over something you’ve never known, but apparently you truly can.

I walk slowly, wistfully, as I let my thoughts wrap around you – around a love I wish I could say was mine, yet a love I know never will be. I wrap my arms around myself as I notice the bitter chill in the air.

I reach the end of the long corridor and am met by a solid mahogany door. A door I have just sat and stared at on many occasions. I walk silently up to it, splaying my palm against it, feeling the warmth it offers – the warmth I seek from you, yet know I’ll never find.

Turning, I press my back up against it as I slowly slide down to settle on the hard floor at the bottom. I lay my head back against the harsh wood as I close my eyes, feeling your presence. This is my favourite place to be. Outside your door, surrounded by your scent, knowing you’re so near. So near, yet so very far.  


* * *

  
I don’t know how much time has passed that I’ve been sitting here. Deciding it is time to head back to my quarters I stand, but am stopped as the door I was leaning against opens. I find myself breathless as I take in your appearance, as dark and mysterious as ever. I have to wonder why you’re wearing your robes, fully dressed in the middle of the night. I myself am in my nightgown, my dressing robe over me, feeling quite ridiculous having you see me in such a state – in front of your door nonetheless.

You don’t speak, just reach out gently and take my hand in yours. I’m mildly surprised to find that it’s warm and not cold at all, as I’d somehow expected. You pull me slowly inside your chambers and I can’t keep my heart from beating loudly; so loudly, I fear you might hear. I quickly glance around, noting the rich colours decorating your personal quarters, and the homey feel. So much warmth, yet I know it will never be for me. I don’t know why you’ve brought me in here, and I look into your eyes, so cold, so blank.

Only they’re neither.

They’re burning with a light I’ve never before seen. It’s entrancing, so overpowering, and I’m suddenly feeling weak. A shiver runs down my spine as you step closer, looking at me with such intensity it leaves me feeling dizzy. You still don’t speak, and I’m afraid to even breathe in fear of breaking whatever spell has come over you. Or perhaps, has come over me.

There is none of the usual hatred in your eyes, coldness in your features, or harshness in your movements. You’re beautiful, as I’ve always known you to be. Your guard is lowered and I’ve never seen you this way. I’m afraid to blink in fear you’ll disappear. I’ve always wanted you, yet never had you. A part of me somewhere still knows I never will.

I shudder as your hand comes to rest softly against my cheek, and your thumb traces the scar that runs from my ear, down my jaw line, stopping beneath my chin. The scar I received in the final battle against Voldemort. The battle I fought with you. There were many battles leading to the grand finale, and in each we were side by side yet it always felt as though we were on opposite sides of the world. I suppose, in a sense, we were. Still are.

I think about those times now and then. The lives we lost and the horror, the pain and the torture. But when I look back on the days of the final war, the thing I think about most is you. Of fighting by your side, taking care of you when you were injured, and letting you do the same for me. We never spoke. There was nothing to say. You’re all that got me through those times and you don’t even know it. You probably don’t even care.

I’m thinking too much, but the moment your lips touch mine I’m not thinking at all. Only feeling how your lips are softer than the finest silk, and relishing how your warm mouth tastes subtly of honey-sweetened tea. I’m feeling overwhelmed. This could never happen. I never get what I most want and yet, somehow, you’re kissing me now.

Your arms slide around my waist and I feel an overpowering need to twine my fingers in your hair, to feel its texture, and let it slide between my fingers. I don’t. I’m afraid to move. But then you pull me as close to your warm body as possible and my fear is lost, just as I am in your embrace. My fingers rediscover their ability to move and lace through your silky, darkened strands. The sensation is surreal, and I can’t help thinking this is just a cruel illusion of my mind.

But then your lips are on my neck, and your teeth graze my skin. I moan softly as you gently bite my shoulder, as you remove my dressing gown. It’s cold in the dungeons, yes, but it’s warm in your rooms – warmer in your arms. Your elegant fingers slide beneath the hem of my nightgown and you lift it above my head, letting it fall to the floor to land in a puddle of white fabric. And then those wonderful fingers are at the top of my panties, sliding them down so slowly I think I might die of anticipation before they’re removed.

Then, seeming much faster than before, I’m standing before you completely exposed to your onyx eyes. They travel up and down my slightly quivering frame and I fight the blush that threatens to creep into my cheeks. I wonder silently what you think of the many scars weaving a web of my past across my flesh. You were there when I received many of them, yet there are some you could have no idea about. Some represent painful memories, and others are marks of lessons learned. But they’re who I am, so you’ll look past them or you won’t. I wait patiently for you to move.

‘Beautiful,’ you whisper, before bringing me close to you again. I think you must be joking. I’m far from beautiful, but before I can make a response your lips are back on mine and I can do nothing but moan. My stomach fills with pleasant butterflies as you lay me upon the bed – your bed – and cover me with the gentle weight of your body. I have a vague sense of saying something along the lines of ‘Too much clothing,’ and causing you to chuckle. What a beautiful sound. It’s like the sweetest melody imaginable, and I long to hear it more often.

And then it’s bliss as I feel your skin against mine. It’s a feeling I am unable to put into words of any form, and a feeling I will forever cherish. I’ve wanted you for so long and now that I have you, I never want this night to end. I don’t want to think about what the dawn might bring. I only want to think about the feel of your legs grazing mine and your hair tickling my neck as your lips dance across my flesh. I’m lost in the feeling of you, and I never want to find my way out again.

You take extreme care when preparing me and ignore my pleas for you to hurry. I’m touched by your concern and wonder what I did to deserve it. I’m writhing beneath your amazing body, feeling as though my every nerve is on fire, burning with raw desire – desire for you. Just when I feel I can’t take the emptiness of not having you inside me, you’re slowly entering me and I’m overcome with a sense of completeness.

‘I love you, Hermione,’ you whisper, and I can’t stop the tears from pouring down my cheeks as I softly caress your face. All my life, I’ve felt something has been missing. Now I know that something is you. I’m not even sure of what I’m saying as words spill forth from my mouth in the tongue of pleasure. I’ve never felt so loved. The sensation is overwhelming. I run my hands across your silken skin as you continue to thrust slowly, making the most exquisite sounds my ears have ever heard. I look into your darkened eyes, filled with passion and love, and I have to close mine against the powerful emotions. I pray to whatever gods that will have mercy upon my ragged soul to let them still be there when I next open them.

 

* * *

  
I open my eyes slowly and am met with the cold stone of the dungeon wall. Your warm body and loving touch are replaced by the hard mahogany of your door. The feeling of sheer completeness I felt only moments ago is replaced by loneliness and emptiness. I dry my tears of sorrow as I slowly stand from where I had been sitting, my limbs stiff from falling asleep at your door like so many other nights. I place my hand upon the cool wood before I turn to go, and brokenly whisper, ‘I love you, too, Severus.’

 

_As the last of my dream_  
Slowly into darkness fades,  
I curse the soft, yet harsh light,  
Streaming through my amber shades.  
  
The chill is cold, but the reality colder,  
As I realise you were just a dream,  
I should get used to it, but I don’t,  
Nor will I, so it would seem.  
  
I kissed you, held you, touched you,  
But now, my love, you’re gone;  
I close my eyes against the light,  
As I curse the mocking dawn.

  
  



End file.
